


Profit for Glory

by Birdman75



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdman75/pseuds/Birdman75
Summary: The following fanfic takes places in the "Bonnie-verse" in relation to the long standing USS Bonaventure Star Trek PBeM game found YahooGroups.    The events take place 103 years after the conclusion of the "2319" chapter of that game.  The setting takes place in the Gamma Quadrant which, to Star Trek fans, is the part of space found on the side of the Bajoran Wormhole from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.   The characters are "traders" who work and live aboard the Profit for Glory, and old cargo ship that is commanded by Captain Louis Jackson, or Jackson.





	Profit for Glory

Year: 2422  
The Gamma Quadrant  
The Frontier

“Piss water, I tell you. Stuff ain’t worth cleaning my boots.”

Jackson pulled the toothpick from his mouth and he sighed. Once Marlow started complaining there was hardly any use in getting him to stop.

“Knock it off. We’re not the ones paying to drink it. Okay?”

“Hmmm,” Marlow said. He gave a sidelong glance to the four crates of Romulan “Imperial” Ale. As he did when he was annoyed, he ran the palm of his hand along his graying mohawk. “Just wondering…you know.” 

“Wondering what?” Jackson asked. 

“Why did Loshar pay us to get something he has the resources and people to get himself? That’s what I am wondering,” Marlow explained. “The crates were in a storage locker that was easy to get into at a place just as easy to enter. It doesn’t add up.”

It was a good question, but Jackson pretended not to be too interested. As the skipper of the Profit for Glory there was an unwritten rule about having a trader appear as if they always knew everything when it was usually the exact opposite. Thirty years younger than Marlow, who had been a friend of his father, he did rely on the “old man” for his experience. Marlow knew this, of course, and in yet another unwritten rule of the trader lifestyle, he never openly questioned his skipper’s confidence. Instead, he grumbled and dropped hints for Jackson to ruminate over. 

It always worked.

A blast of chilled air made Jackson pull his coat closed. They were standing on a private landing platform of Promontory Base, an old Federation outpost cut into the granite mountain side of Oleisha III that had become a public trading post for anyone in the Gamma Quadrant looking to buy or sell anything legal or illegal. Winter had fallen in the region, and along with the grim steel sky above, fat snowflakes were beginning to fall onto the platform. A rickety old service droid had been dispatched from the station’s computer and it was trying vainly to remove any snow build up on the platform.

Jackson put his toothpick back in his mouth and he looked up toward the sky. It had not occurred to him, rather nervously, just how much of an open target he and Marlow were on the platform. They had transported down per the rules of the meet up with Loshar due to arrive “shortly”. For all that Jackson knew the shady Saurian was in fighter craft and targeting weapons on him at this very moment. 

“I hate you sometimes,” Jackson said to Marlow. “Tell me you suspected something like this and made the appropriate precautions.”

Marlow quirked a smile. “I did as usual. Beth Ann is monitoring us along Cth’kaw. They’re over there in the abandoned control tower.”

Jackson knew better than to look directly at the control tower to the east of the platform should Loshar or his goons be watching. Pretending to be bored his drop his hand to his side and he casually brushed his phaser holster before looking at his boots.

“Cth’kaw being here makes me feel better. Beth Ann, however, makes me a little nervous.”

“Hmmm…could it be because you forgot her birthday?” asked Marlow. “Wives hate that. How many times I got to tell you that, Boyo? Never forget the birthday’s, anniversary’s, corporate mandated fake holidays to drive up card and candy sales, and any other day that any man cannot reasonably think about?”

“It’s just that…there has been a lot to think about,” Jackson tried to explain. 

“Hah!” Marlow laughed. “Nice try, but you’re in the doghouse all the same. Let’s hope Beth Ann doesn’t intentionally miss one of Lashar’s goons if things get sticky…or shoot you in the bum and say that it was a mistake!”

Marlow continued to laugh while Jackson shook his head. From the corner of his eye he saw the control tower and he knew Beth Ann was watching the entire conversation from the scope of her phaser rifle. She could read lips and he could only imagine what she saying to Cth’kaw who was one of her confidants. 

Annoyed by Marlow’s chuckling, Jackson was about to speak when he heard a rushing sound. It was coming from the west of the platform. A shuttle craft parted from the clouds. It’s landing lights were flashing and it already had its landing gear extended. The craft was painted dull red and the black squiggly on the writing indicated its Saurian origins. No weapons were visible on the hull and under its stubby wings, but that was intentional. Lashar was always armed. 

“Well…that’s a good sign. He isn’t coming in guns blazing,” Jackson said. 

“I still don’t trust him…the crook,” Marlow replied. 

“After today, we’re even with him,” Jackson quickly added. “My dad’s debt is paid, and Loshar tells the Association we are clear. No more junk work.” 

“I know why you took the job, Jackson. Everyone on the Pride knows why, but you gotta have that knot in your stomach telling you differently. Loshar doesn’t like to let anything that guarantees him profit to go away easily no matter how honorable you’ve been to your father’s word.”

“There’s the Code, and we all follow it including Loshar,” Jackson said, but the answer was more to quell his own doubts than to sway Marlow’s. 

The thrust from the shuttle kicked up the snow in a miniature blizzard that forced Jackson and Marlow to hunker down. Behind them, the little droid began to squawk before it gave up its task and headed back to its tiny enclosure. As the shuttle reached a half meter from the platform, the pilot cut the engines thrust. The shuttle landing struts hit the platform with thunk, and there was a loud hiss as the hydraulic suspension in the struts took up the load. Excessive heat was vented from the thrust engines in a loud rushing sound, and from the port side of the craft the airlock opened, and a step appeared from recess in the hull. 

Two Cardassians exited the shuttle first. Former military, and now mercenaries, they still wore their old military uniforms out of pride. They were unmistakable with the familiar spoon shaped ridges on their foreheads and pronounced neck muscles. Both were carrying plasma rifles that were of the latest Kzinti designs, and they made a point of pressing them close to their chests as they took to each side of the hatch. 

“Those Cardies didn’t have those weapons last time we saw them,” Jackson said. He turned his head and he looked at Marlow who nodded. 

At the hatch, a slim and tall figure appeared. Loshar, being Saurian, was of reptilian origins and his body was covered with fine scales that were light pink in color. He had two large black eyes with reticulating membranes that, for reasons he could not explain, made Jackson uneasy whenever he blinked. Loshar also moved in a way that was best described as predatory with each step being made as if the Saurian were ready to attack. More unnerving was the way he moved his arms and clawed hands as he walked as if he were almost dancing. Jackson’s father had told him that it was all practiced movements by Loshar meant to put anyone he met off guard. 

In another display of his wealth, Loshar was dressed in a purple and gold suit with a long coat that flowed along the ground behind like a cape. More ridiculous were the blue feathers that adorned the collar of the coat. 

“I’ll be darned if he doesn’t look like a peacock,” Marlow muttered. 

Jackson held back the urge to smile choosing rather to bite his lower lip. As Loshar approached him with his stalking gate he stopped, and he bowed his head before giving a flourish with his right hand in the form of a greeting. A series of clicks and pops emerged from the thin slit of his mouth before the communicators the men wore in their ears began to decipher the reptilian language. The voice that emerged sounded effeminate with a slight rasp to it. 

“What a pleasure it is to meet you again, Captain Mercer and Mister Dell,” Loshar said. He raised his head and he blinked.

“A pleasure,” Jackson said. He forced a smile on his face. He then turned to his right and he waved his hand at the four crates. “As promised, Loshar, and ahead of schedule. The crates were where you said we would find them.”

The Saurian did not look at the crates. Instead he raised his right hand and he clicked his claws. One of the Cardassians at the shuttle marched toward the crates and he began to open one of them. 

“Imperial Romulan Ale,” Loshar said. “The last from the vaults of the long dead emperors and empresses of a dying race.”

It was cruel joked aimed at the destruction of the Romulan home world Romulus, and what was the eventual the collapse of the Romulan Star Empire. The Cardassian appeared with a bottle in hand and he handed it to Loshar. The bottle was elegant and made of handblown glass with a fluted top. It was sealed at the top with a cork and a wax covering along with a seal that indicated it as the private stock of the most elite of what had been the Romulan leadership. The blue liquid inside seemed to glow of its own light such was its purity. 

Loshar held the bottle up to the sky to check the contents. He ran the fingers of his other hand down the side of the bottle in a way that was uncomfortably sexual. 

“Amazing isn’t it, Jackson?” Loshar said. “The Romulan Emperor would sign a special edict to have a bottle opened, and that only the most trusted aides were permitted to carry the bottle and to pour its contents. To spill a single drop meant death.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jackson said feigning interested. “At twelve bottles per crate, you are quite wealthy, Loshar. Not a bad haul for the remainder of my father’s debt, and your word.”

“Ah, yes, the debt,” Loshar replied. He cocked his head to one side, and he looked to Jackson. “You are an admirable human willing to take on what our father owed. You have spent the last five years paying it off in addition to what I have asked of you as interest.”

Marlow coughed on purpose which made Jackson more apprehensive. Now was not the time for him to get angry. He held his smile, but the knot in his stomach was getting worse. 

“We came through for you, Loshar. This settles the debt, and I want to take my ship and crew wherever we want to take whatever job we want without having to identify ourselves as your employees under the Merchants Association. We are freelancers.”

Loshar made a strange clicking sound that was translated, oddly, as a sniff. He waved his free hand dismissively.

“Ah, yes, you want to ferret passengers and cargo to the colonies. So boring!”

“And we want to work in Federation space when we get the proper license,” Jackson said quickly. “We want honest work, Loshar. We don’t care about the political squabbles with the Federation and the Colonial Alliance. There’s plenty of credits to be made for everyone in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“I understand!” Loshar exclaimed. With a swirling gesture of his hand he pointed a claw at Jackson. “You would have settled your debt years ago had you only made your mark with the Association. You chose to remain a pragmatist like your father.”

Marlow stepped forward. “The crew of the Pride of Glory aren’t gun runners, drug smugglers, and we won’t take a credit that involves hurting innocent people, Loshar! Why you don’t take your lousy Romulan Ale and let us go off on our own?”

Jackson winced, but Loshar did not even look at Marlow. 

“That human has always been an emotional one,” he said. 

A growled pass from Marlow and he took a step toward Loshar. Jackson reached out and he pressed his hand against his chest to stop him. The two Cardassians lowered their weapons and they took aim at Marlow. 

“There’s no need for this to get ugly,” Jackson said in an even tone. 

“Of course not,” Loshar said. Smiling, he let the bottle of Romulan Ale slip from his fingers. The bottle shattered on the platform and the blue liquid turned the snow on the platform to blue slush.

“What the…?” Jackson said. 

Loshar pressed the tips of his clawed hands together. “You are good at what you do, Jackson, but you have the same flaw as your father. You are incapable of looking at what you humans would refer to as ‘the bigger picture’.” 

Jackson moved his hand closer to his phaser, but he stopped as one of the Cardassians trained its rifle toward him. 

“What did you do, Loshar?” He asked. 

“It’s more of what did you do, Jackson,” Loshar corrected. “The storage facility where the Romulan Ale was kept did not belong to some wealthy curator as I told you. It belonged to Jandehk.”

It was Marlow who spoke next. “Bloody hell! That was property of the Risen!” 

A series of repetitive clicks from Loshar was translated of laughter. 

“No, you fool. The property was mine. The Romulan ale was not. If you cannot pay attention, then do try to remain quiet.”

Marlow growled and he slapped his hand to his phaser but before he could pull it from its holster one of the Cardassians fired their rifles. A scarlet colored beam emitted from the muzzle and it struck the platform just centimeters from Marlow’s boots. The duranium steel of the platform turned a brilliant orange color from the intense heat forcing Marlow to step back. 

“You set us up,” Jackson said. He kept his eyes locked on Loshar. “You made it look as if we broke into your own facility to betray you in order to steal the Romulan ale.”

“Now you see the picture, Jackson,” Loshar said with a simulated note of delight. “I was worried that you may find out. I had to hire contractors to watch the facility and it took me a while to find an inept group, and I was worried they would be too inept. If it is any consolation to your human ego you did sneak in undetected.” 

“And why would Jandehk trust you with something he would consider rare?” Jackson asked. “Being Romulan, and from aristocracy, that ale would be a reminder of his home. Why part with it?”

Loshar curled his fingers and he stared at his claws. “He, and his pathetic gaggle of Romulan refugees, need weapons and resources. I, as a negotiator for the Merchants Association, took the ale as collateral. For Jandehk it was a difficult choice to make, but it was very advantageous to the Association.”

Jackson bit down on his toothpick. His stomach began to hurt, and he felt as if the entire platform that he was standing on had fallen out from beneath him. Still, he maintained his façade and he could see Loshar’s large eyes scanning his face so he could the enjoyment he wanted over the betrayal. 

“You went through that because you did not want to let us go, Loshar” Jackson said at last. “Does the Association know you have the Risen angry at them?”

“Jandehk owes them money and that is all they care about,” Loshar continued “As for the Risen neither they, nor Jandehk, blame us. I had to make certain guarantees to that fact to make it appear as if I were a victim as they are. I had to liquidate the contractors and make considerable damage to my property to make it look as if you had made an assault. The costs were worth the benefits.”

Loshar paused and he looked at Marlow and he looked to the abandoned control tower before he continued. 

“Considering the background of some of your crew. It is very plausible. Need I remind you, Jackson, that I have your pathetic little ship under watch and several shuttles flying overhead should you attempt to behave erratically.” 

The Saurian clicked his claws and the guards shouldered their rifles. They moved toward the crates of Romulan Ale and they began to take them onto the shuttle. 

Jackson could no longer keep his anger in check. He plucked his toothpick from his mouth and he flicked it to the ground.

“We honored our part of the deal, Loshar! We paid our debts and all that we asked was to be left alone. You didn’t have to do this!”

“It is both a matter of appearances and respect, Jackson,” Loshar said. He raised his right hand and he pointed his index finger in the air as if checking off a point on an invisible list. As I said, you are very good at what you do, and I cannot have you competing against me and the Association. Now that you have the Association and the Risen out to claim you, your crew, and your ship as bounty you will be no threat in the Frontier.”

“There is the Code!” Jackson yelled. He felt his face flush.

More clicks followed as laughter. 

“You are a pragmatist, Jackson, just like your father. I will miss you.”

The last crate was loaded onto the shuttle and the pilot had begun to spool up its engines. Jackson stared Loshar who gave a parting bow before he boarded the craft. The thrust of the shuttle whipped at Jackson’s hair and beard as he watched it ascend and vanish into the clouds. 

“GAH!” Marlow yelled. He pulled his phaser from his holster and fit of unrestrained rage he began to fire into the clouds. “I’m going to kill him, Jackson!” 

Jackson did not answer. A beep sounded in his ear and the voice of a very angry woman shouted at him. It was Beth Ann.

“Jackson! I just word from the Pride that the bounty network just lit up with our names! Both the Risen and the Association have five thousand bars of gold pressed latinum on each of our heads!” 

Marlow was getting the same feed. He looked at Jackson and the lines on his craggy face seemed to have deepened. 

“That’ll be enough for every low life from here and to the other side of the worm hole to come looking for us! There won’t be any port in the Frontier where we’ll be safe!”

“I know,” Jackson said with an angry sigh.

“So, what do we do, Skipper?”

Jackson turned and he saw Beth Ann. She had her phaser rifle slung over her shoulder. Having prepared for fight she had several pulse grenades and knife attached to her utility vest and another knife strapped to her calf above her left boot. Standing next to her was Cth’kaw. The Kzinti, formerly known as Chth’kaw Master of Voices, was a mute having had his voice cut out by his Kzin Master’s in a cruel twist of irony for having failed them. The orange furred felinoid was a technician aboard the Pride of Glory and something of a counselor where the crew could to speak to him about anything as he always listened. It also helped that he was unable to offer any advice having refused any prosthesis that could help him talk.

With everyone looking at him for direction, Jackson felt that moment of fear and uncertainty his father had told him that came with commanding a crew. It was something he had also prepared for back in the days when he had once thought he wanted to serve in Starfleet. 

“I hate to press, Boyo,” Marlow said from behind. “But Loshar will not leave here without alerting someone. My bet is that he told Jandehk and that he will be coming for his revenge. Where do we go?” 

“I need some time to figure this all out,” Jackson said. 

“Well it certainly isn’t here!” Beth Ann snapped. “Why did you make that deal with Loshar, Jackson? It was too good to be true!”

Marlow looked at Beth Ann. “Hey, watch it. He thought he was…”

“She’s right!” Jackson yelled. He turned and he looked at each of his crew. “I thought I could get us out from under the Association! We were all suffocating from those pathetic errands Loshar was punishing us for not smuggling for him, and I was afraid everyone form the Pride was going to lose faith in me! All that I did was make worse.”

“You didn’t know,” Marlow offered. 

Jackson looked at Beth, but she had turned her eyes to the platform. There was more than hurt over a missed birthday in her eyes, and now his failure of being a skipper had compounded that. He could only wonder what the others of his crew were thinking now while they sat in orbit on ship that now had a bounty on it. 

Would they take a vote? The Code, that old set of rules from the days when traders were called Boomers in regard to the old ships that they traveled upon, allowed for a crew to call a vote of no confidence in their captain. For Jackson it would mean being forced out, but could he blame them?

For now, he had to decide. He had to get his ship and people to safety. 

“I said I need time to figure this out,” Jackson said. He steeled his voice for effect. “We need to get out of the Frontier. That means we have to go where the Association and The Risen are not welcome.”

“Don’t say it, Jackson,” Marlow called out. “Not there. We ain’t exactly welcomed there, either.”

“I know, but it is still safe,” Jackson said. He made a point of looking Marlow and Cth’kaw before he set his eyes on Beth Ann. 

“We have to head for Federation space.”


End file.
